


Don't Say Me

by Lavendermagik



Series: Fugitive Songs [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Break Up, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Inspired by Album Fugitive Songs, Mild Angst, One Shot, POV Second Person, Pre-Captain Marvel (2019), Reader-Insert, Series of One Shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29538456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendermagik/pseuds/Lavendermagik
Summary: One of you has to move on.
Relationships: Nick Fury/Reader
Series: Fugitive Songs [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971865
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Don't Say Me

**Author's Note:**

> Places to listen:  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/3c5J5W8Zhh6DhEat4pPv1B?si=Gk9rJCn7S3miwpzqj7T0eA&utm_source=copy-link)  
> [Album Release Party](https://youtu.be/nDkO5h0-foA)  
> [YouTube Live Show](https://youtu.be/Sh-be14HV2c)

“How did you find me?”

He raised a single eyebrow, as if the question was too stupid for words. And it was, of course. He was an agent of the world’s premier intelligence agency. He’d be able to find the Hindenburg baby given enough time and the right resources. 

Deftly, he flicked a yellow post-it note onto your kitchen table, and you swallowed. Written in blue sharpie were the words, _I’m sorry. I took the cat. Everything else is yours if you don’t come after me._

Said traitorous cat now curled in his lap as he absently scratched behind her ears.

“So I take it you don’t want the townhouse?”

“What I _want_ ,” he spoke slowly, deliberately, as he always did when he was trying to make a point, “is to have a conversation with my wife.”

With a deep sigh you sunk into the rickety chair across from his. “That’s probably warranted.”

There went that brow again. _You think?_ it asked. He was so imbued with sarcasm he didn’t even have to speak it anymore.

You leaned back, hands lying in your lap, oddly calm in your resignation. “Do you remember that game our senior year? The championship?”

His frown was so deep it seemed to spread beyond his mouth to cover his whole face. He obviously did not appreciate this trip down memory lane.

“You missed that final shot at the buzzer that would have tied it. It was an easy shot. You’d made it hundreds of times before. You could have made it in your sleep.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re throwing away our marriage because I lost a basketball game 27 years ago?”

“No. Well. Yes. In a way.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You sighed. You weren’t explaining this very well. “You know, everyone else was devastated when you missed. Except for me. I was the only cheerleader with any pep left, because that was exactly what I’d wanted.” You saw the betrayal on his face, even all these years later. “I knew there were scouts in the bleachers. If you’d made that shot, you’d have gotten recruitment offers and scholarships and everything. And I would have gone with you, because that’s what sports heroes' girlfriends do. My entire life was about to be decided by your ability to throw a ball through a hoop. Can you imagine?”

You dropped your gaze to the table and began to fiddle with the post-it.

“That should have been the end of it. I thought I was safe, that we could now devise a future together. One for both of us.”

You looked back at him, felt the familiar anger rising, knew it showed in your eyes.

“And then you joined the army.”

He hadn’t bothered to discuss it with you. Hadn’t even told you about it until his acceptance was official. Then he’d had the gall to propose to you, and you’d accepted because you hadn’t known what else to do when he was on the cusp of leaving for potential death and/or dismemberment. 

“So I sat at home while you went and fought the Soviets, wondering every day if I’d get the call, because that’s what war heroes' wives do. When you got back I thought, ‘Okay, this is it. We can settle down and figure out a life.’ Instead, you ran straight into S.H.I.E.L.D., and I went back to being your sideline wife cheering from the stands, like I’ve been doing our entire lives.”

“If that’s all this is about, you should have said something. I would have-"

“I did! This isn’t about me and what I’ve said. It's about you. It’s about how you’re still not over that last game.”

“From where I’m sitting, I’m not the one who’s not over it.”

“You gave up. For the first time you realized you could fail, and so you decided never to take the risk again.”

“What part of ‘joined the army’ doesn’t sound like risk to you?”

“That’s not the kind of risk I’m talking about. You knew you could succeed in the army, just like you know you’ll do fine at S.H.I.E.L.D. But you never try for more than that. You’re completely content with ‘just fine.’ The same way you’re content never to check if I am, as long I keep doing cartwheels at the sidelines.” You sighed as you ran your eyes over the worn seams on his suit, the tie that didn’t quite match, the cat hair that he probably wouldn’t notice later. “You’ve built out entire lives around your comfort and what you want, which is depressing because you stopped dreaming 27 years ago.”

He stared at you, apparently at a loss for words, fingers motionless against the impatient nudging of the disgruntled calico. You sat up straight, folded your hands on the table, and continued primly, “Well, you may be too afraid, but I’m not. I need to take shots of my own, and obviously I can’t do that with you when our mindsets are so far apart. I’m sorry.”

“That’s it then? Not even going to give me a chance to make some changes?”

“I don’t have time to see if your dog can learn new tricks. We’re not as young as we used to be.”

“No, we’re not.” He lifted your cat, much to her dismay, and stood. He set her on the table with one last stroke from head to tail. He loved that cat. Leaving her was going to be one of the hardest parts of this for him. “Well, I certainly hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Nick?” He paused in the doorway to look back at you. “I’m not in any hurry to file any paperwork. I just need to stand on my own until I can see who I am without my pompoms.”

He stood for a minute, weighing your words which you belatedly realized could be insulting, like you expected to put him down and pick him back up on a whim. But he only nodded and turned back around. “For the record, I never cared much about the pompoms.”

He had the front door open before he threw back, “The skirt, however…”

You didn’t see him for more than a year after that. When you did cross paths, he was down an eye and oddly suspicious of your cat. You smiled with genuine pride when he informed you of his promotion. He smiled when you told him about your burgeoning design business. He was called away by a slight man in a suit, and you turned back to what had been your small apartment complex, shifting your hold on the grumpy feline in your arms. ‘He looks good in an eye patch,’ you thought as you watched dust rise from the mysterious, smoking crater where you used to live. 

Looks like he’d finally made it off that three-point line.


End file.
